Anna Whitehouse is no stranger to controversy. She was one of the first women to build a lucrative career from sharing the warts-and-all reality of family life as a married mother of two via her Mother Pukka podcast and blog, garnering nearly half a million followers on Instagram.
Last year, she dropped the bombshell that she was divorcing her husband Matt Farquharson, the father of her two young daughters, aged seven and 11. And now, at 43, she has given birth to a baby girl – with a new partner she met only a year ago.
Here, in an impassioned defence of her new life, she confronts her critics and asks why women are judged more harshly than men for moving on…
Anna Whitehouse writes: Two weeks ago, at the age of 43 – so very much considered a ‘geriatric mother’ or one of ‘advanced maternal age’, as we’re now more kindly termed – I gave birth to my third child, via emergency C-section.
The baby’s father is my partner Olly, who I met last November on dating app Hinge. We each have two children from previous relationships and it’s fair to say neither of us imagined having any more until we walked into each other’s lives.
For some, the pace we’ve moved at might be seen as ‘fast’. There’s been undeniable judgment here and there around what is – in its simplest form – genuine love and happiness.
It’s also the sort of moving on we see frequently with men in midlife. But somehow, people are surprised that I, a mother, have done the same.
Since separating from my ex in March 2023, I had dated a bit but decided I’d be happy with just my two girls and a hectic career. I didn’t expect my life to change as I walked through the door of a bar down the road from London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, where I’d been hosting an event.
I’d never believed in love at first sight but the connection was instantly clear to us both as I walked in. As we sipped wine and talked, openly and without pretence, I felt calm, content, like I’d ‘come home’, perhaps. It was instant attraction. That said, I’m no longer looking for that elusive ‘happy ever after’ young women are sold on. Something I was made to believe was the Holy Grail at 24.
I want a contented ever after with someone I love, and I just knew, hard though it is to explain, that Olly was that person. At 43, maybe I just know myself better.
My previous marriage lasted 13 years and, despite living separately for nearly a year before, we announced our separation in September 2023 when it felt right to do so, and when everyone close to us had been told.
Both of us moved on with new relationships that November, and yet there remains this odd judgment for couples that do find happiness on the other side.
The reality is that most marriages that end in divorce are over years before the final decision is made. There’s grief and processing in the years prior to exit; so what might seem ‘soon’ to some has been a long time coming for those in it.
Around our commitments to our children and our work – Olly, 40, is a lawyer and I am best known as the founder of Mother Pukka, an online parenting community, and a radio and podcast host – we spent every spare minute either together, or talking on the phone.
What could be seen as a year together is the equivalent of three, when you look at how much we have communicated and how often we see each other.
Ever since we met, we haven’t been apart for more than a day and no topic or secret, however hard or awkward, is off the table. Neither of us has been perfect, far from it. We’ve both learnt difficult lessons over the years. But in laying ourselves bare, in learning from those experiences, we could see each other very clearly.
Just over a month after we met and fully in love, we headed off on a romantic break to Thailand for New Year. It was the first Christmas I’d had off my Heart Radio show in seven years and it was there that we decided to get engaged.
Sitting on plastic chairs on the beach one evening, sipping Chang beer, he turned to me and said: ‘If it wasn’t for the judgment of everyone else, I’d ask you to marry me right now.’ I replied: ‘If it wasn’t for the judgment of everyone else, I would ask you to marry me too.’
Then I looked at him and asked: ‘Will you marry me?’ I can’t put into words how happy I felt when he held my hand and said: ‘I will.’
That week, alone in Thailand, left us in no doubt that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.
Once back in London, we went engagement ring shopping and I picked pretty much the first one I tried on – a beautiful art deco diamond.
When I announced our engagement on Instagram, to over 400,000 followers, one or two people were predictably quick to respond with: ‘That’s fast!’
Maybe it was, but we’re both at a stage of life where we know what makes us happy. Of course, people are entitled to their opinions, but what wasn’t fair was the suggestion that I was having some kind of ‘midlife crisis’. That I was discounting the happiness of my children when they’ve truly never been happier. Our new normal might not be for some, but it works for our little family.
It wasn’t just strangers online. One of my friends said she felt it was all too quick, that we couldn’t possibly know each other well enough. More recently, that friend has admitted she did judge me, but then confessed that every time she sees me now, she realises I’m a lighter, happier version of myself.
It’s true – and the same goes for my kids.
Getting engaged to a man you’ve met on Hinge and having a baby, at the age of 43 – all within a year – just doesn’t fit the fairytale narrative women have been raised on, perhaps. Or the idea that you have to be with someone for years to truly know and understand them, when in reality we are all constantly evolving and changing.
Society still dictates that longevity is a key component of a successful relationship, when some of the unhappiest couples are those that have been together for years but aren’t actually right for each other – or are no longer right for each other.
Soon after our engagement, Olly and I talked about having a baby. I would have felt sad if we never got to do that together; I want to do everything in life with him. But given my age, we weren’t sure it would be possible. I’d experienced five miscarriages before – three before my first daughter and two more before the second – and was well aware that a successful pregnancy is never a given.
One thing I couldn’t do was get consumed by trying. I knew I’d lose my mind and go down a dark hole. So there was no pressure, really, just a hope it would work out.
In the event, it happened so quickly that when my period was late, in March, and I experienced hot flashes and mood swings, I assumed that I was just perimenopausal.
But then I developed a weird, coppery taste in my mouth and remembered the last time that happened I was pregnant.
So, on my way home from a work appointment one afternoon, I picked up a pregnancy test from Boots, and took the test in the public loos at London’s Marylebone Station.
It’s only when you get that positive result that you really know how you feel about having a baby. Alone in that toilet cubicle, as the word ‘pregnant’ appeared in the results window, I felt utterly euphoric.
God knows what the other passengers in my Tube carriage must have thought as I sobbed on my route home. I called Olly immediately.
For the next couple of months we told no one. After five miscarriages, I know better than to broadcast news of a pregnancy until after the 12-week scan, so for a while, it was our secret.
Our exes were the first to know when we were finally able to ‘go public’. It wasn’t a conversation I ever imagined having, and I can’t pretend it wasn’t awkward, but I didn’t want the girls’ dad to hear it elsewhere first. Olly and I told each of our children individually, to give them time to process the news and so that we could reassure them this made no difference to the love and care we have for them.
All four were over the moon and since the baby’s arrival, have been fighting over their time with her. She has landed in the middle of our newly blended family – or what the Hungarians call a ‘mosaic family’.
Still, there were those who weren’t so sure. Some of my close friends have since told me that they felt concerned at the speed at which I was embarking on such big life changes, that they worried about my mental state and whether I was rushing into things through fear of being alone.
The truth is, I’d had no great desire to remarry and have another child – I’d even contemplated living with my best friend, who was also separated. We had plans to pool our resources and live out our days in a two-woman homestead. It’s just that, after meeting Olly, it felt right in a way I wasn’t expecting.
What’s lovely is that every single friend who judged what, to them, looked like a hasty decision has since held us both and acknowledged that what we have is just love.
I know critics, who fear it will all go up in flames, might insist: ‘The lady doth protest too much.’
I’m speaking about it because I wish somebody had told me sooner that, on the other side of divorce, there is, perhaps, a happier-ever-after. Just not one you often see depicted in Disney films and fairytales.
There are a lot of people who, I think, feel stuck in marriages because, financially, they can’t afford to separate and run two homes. There’s a huge privilege in even being able to leave and I don’t say that lightly. I’ve spoken to many women who simply don’t know what to do and it is utterly heartbreaking.
And, of course, I sometimes question whether I deserve to move on, to experience love and family life again. I’d have judged myself as much as anyone else might be judging me.
However, I count my blessings that I went with my gut instinct, at every stage, and now get to spend my life with Olly, the most kind and sensitive soul.
Our mosaic family has brought me more joy, this past year, than I ever thought possible.
Olly and I both co-parent with our former partners. Spending time apart from my girls is hard, but, when they come back from their dad’s full of tales about what they’ve done with him and his girlfriend, we don’t make them feel awkward, we want to hear all about it. All the adults involved agree that the children must never feel responsible for our emotions as we navigate the landscape of shared parenting.
So what’s the truth about being a ‘geriatric’ mother? Having our little girl was definitely more exhausting than my previous two, probably because of my age, and the fact I suffered insomnia and relentless gastric reflux during the final two months.
For the first couple of days back home, after the birth, it was just Olly and me, in a baby bubble. Then the grandparents brought the kids, individually, to meet their little sister.
Now, family life is settling into a new normal.
I’d worked on most of this piece before our little girl arrived – she is now a healthy weight after being born early at 35 weeks, and she’s thriving.
She had given us a scare when I had a heavy bleed at around 33 weeks. Then she decided to make an appearance two weeks before I was booked in for an elective Caesarean. My first baby was in the breech position, which meant she had to be delivered by C-section, so an elective was recommended for subsequent births.
My biggest fear, this time, was not about having a baby within a year of meeting Olly, or about being a ‘geriatric mum’, but experiencing postnatal depression afterwards.
I suffered with PND for a year after my second daughter was born – I functioned, I had a big job and two children to take care of, but I felt lost, like I was watching myself living life from afar.
I think the downward turn was returning to work when she was just two weeks old.
I’ll be taking a minimum of three months’ maternity leave and know Olly, when he’s not working, will be as supportive with the baby as he was throughout the pregnancy.
I also have a ‘village’ of ten women on hand – friends, my mum and sister – who I know I can call on whenever I need.
My closest friend is the one to bring a lasagne round. Another mate, who’s out all the time dating men she meets on Hinge, cheers me up with messages at 3am while I’m breastfeeding.
Sitting here snuggled up with my little girl, in my 40s, I can honestly say I know myself much better, and recognise potential breaking points sooner. That’s why I asked the women in my life for help before the baby came.
We’ll give ourselves 18 months to settle into our new rhythm before our wedding, which we’re planning at Port Lympne Safari Park for April 2026. I’m not sure of the finer details yet, other than that it will be a big celebration.
Still, if you’d told me, even a year ago, that I’d have a baby, and be engaged to be married to a wonderful man I met online, I’d never have believed it. I maybe wouldn’t have dared to believe it.
It may be unconventional, but I finally believe I deserve the happiness of this new ‘ever after’.
